


Bruises And All

by joyfulsongbird



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: ? - Freeform, Chapter 1, F/M, TW: Past Abuse, eventual, lots of fluff, orphydice, tw: abusive family members, tw: semi violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22484230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyfulsongbird/pseuds/joyfulsongbird
Summary: Hermes and Orpheus live above Herme’s bar by the ocean, which sometimes get hit by monumental storms. and when Hermes finds a girl in the woods caught in the storm, he doesn’t what kind of hurricane he’s bringing with him when she comes back with him.
Relationships: Eurydice & Hades (Hadestown), Eurydice & Hermes (Hadestown), Eurydice & Persephone (Hadestown), Eurydice/Orpheus (Hadestown), Hades & Hermes (Hadestown), Hades/Persephone (Hadestown), Hermes & Orpheus (Hadestown)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 86





	1. HERMES

HERMES is an old man, an old man who cares for a young boy who cares for music and for life. an old man who will spend the rest of his days repeating the same tasks over and over, his muscles only know how to wipe down the bar in one circular motion. he’s just stuck in a loop and he’s happy there, with his godson and the godsend that sent him this life of security in this little woodsy town. his boy will probably live out his days the same way, fingers grow aching from playing so much, voice growing strained over the years until he, too, is an old, old man and wipes down the bar every night before turning off the lights and wishing the room goodbye. he’s content with this life. with the forest on one side, the ocean on the other, it’s a life of little risk. terrible storms roll in from the ocean every once in awhile but the people call those “hundred year storms”. the name is pretty self explanatory: storms that happen once in every hundred years.

today is apparently that day.

“mister Hermes!” Orpheus calls from upstairs. “should I pull out the sandbags? Miss Afra said that there could be flooding.”

“I’ll do it, son, you stay upstairs.” Hermes yells back.

“but-”

“no questions asked, you get to bed, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Orpheus, the ever obedient, does exactly that. but Hermes knows that he won’t sleep for a long time, probably not until long after Hermes is home and in bed across from the boy. he worries, that kid, worries far more than Hermes would like. but it seems that is just his nature, to care so deeply that his soul hurts when he has to be separated from people.

Hermes wasn’t worried about the storm until he stepped outside with his flashlight in hand. winds going on dangerous speeds. rain pounding on his back like hard rocks. the darkness in the sky... it worries him, deeply. a typhoon is forming out there in that rocky ocean, for sure. he struggles against the wind and puts up a couple sandbags against the side of their home, the side that faces the beach. water falls over the wall of their brick home like waterfalls, streams through the concrete patches and blurring the engravings in the brick from view. and in a split second decision, he goes for some probably soaked through firewood. who knows how long they’ll be in that house for.

he’s got a few logs in his arms and is preparing to head back around the house when he lifts his head towards the forest. his ears must be tricking him, no one would be out in the woods at this time, in this storm? absolutely not. but the side of him that is a father, that worries as deeply as Orpheus does, itches to just check. it can’t hurt to just check? it definitely can but he’d rather go into those woods and find that lost child, than leave it and find out in a few days that a body has been found. if it’s what Orpheus would do, Hermes will do it too.

he drops the logs over by the door of their house, he’ll be back for those later. he hopes. and he heads directly into those woods, aiming his flashlight at the ground so that he doesn’t step into some chasm or trip over a root. he’s known these woods since he was a child but he never liked them at night, it always unsettled him. and now, he trudges through these woods in the pitch darkness of night and in the danger of a brewing hurricane. he’s about to call it a night, say he misheard, when he hears it again, clearer this time. closer this time.

_please_

no going back now. he won’t go back to Orpheus and his worried eyes and tell him that he left this poor person to the torture of this storm. how disappointed in him he’d be if he knew he ever considered it. having the boy in the house has made him a better person, convinced of the good of the world. growing up in the harshness of that town, hearing the opinions of other, and losing hope for the world, he’d lost hope in humanity. Orpheus is the reason he’s still hoping today. Orpheus is the reason he trains his eyes on ever crook and crevice of this forest. determined to spot this lost soul.

he expects a heep of a person. he expects a wet, soaking, helpless child all curled up trying to keep their warmth inside.

what he does not expect, however, is to have his flashlight knocked out of his hand, his knees crumpled under him, hands on his shoulders keeping him planted to the ground.

and then a voice, “oh my gods, I’m so sorry!”

there are so many feelings coursing through his body, but the main one: confusion. first, the yelling helplessness of the voice in the woods. second, the process in which he got swiftly knocked to his knees, expertly and quickly. and thirdly, the apology coming soon after having his flashlight knocked away, and the voice... a smooth, lovely voice he’d assumed would’ve come from a singer at his bar or a woman who reads audiobooks on the radio for a living. so many conflicting moments of juxtaposition just clash in his head and all he has to say in response is:

“e-excuse me?”

she lets go of his shoulders and he hears the shuffling around him, he’s unsure of what she’s doing until he feels his flashlight is put back in his hands.

“I-I’m so sorry,” she shouts over the wind, curling his fingers around the handle of the light for him. “I thought you might be... I’m sorry.”

he turns his light so that it shines on her. and he’s faced with a girl, not even a woman, about the same age as Orpheus, with rain falling over over her cheeks like tracks of tears and black hair sticking to her full cheeks. she blinks at the light, shielding her face with her hands. she’s shivering and soaked through, but holding herself strongly. she pulls him by his arms, pretending to brush a leaf off of his shoulder and steps back.

_she’s tiny._ is all he can think now that they are face to face, standing on the same level. her head reaches his shoulders, her small stature not helping her make up for height in any way.

he’s not going to leave her in this storm, no way in hell is he leaving this one behind.

“Come with me!” he shouts, motioning the same thing to get his point across in case she can’t hear him all that well. she glances from him to behind her, back into the darkness of the forest. like something is haunting her, as if there is a chain on her ankle, not allowing her to leave this place. Hermes wonders what there is that this girl is afraid of. he decides, however, that he will ask questions later and get out of this storm now.

He pulls her closer, grasping her shoulders with both of his hands, he is sure she can hear him now. “come. it isn’t safe out here. no questions asked about who you are, I can’t... I won’t leave you here.”

her lips part in what looks like confusion but one glance up at the darkness of the sky must convince her. she nods once and leans down to the forest floor to pick something up. he points his light to follow her hands, helping her only a small bit. she finds what she needs, a ratty old messenger bag that she clutches to her stomach as if it is the only thing in the world that matters.

and it occurs to him that it may as well be that much. he knows nothing of this girl. where she came from. if she even came from anywhere at all. he’s never seen her before but what does that matter? she looks lost and his entire life has proved that he quite has a soft spot for lost, lonely children.

he tries to grab her wrist, lead her out of the forest, but she rips herself out of his grip.

“I follow from behind.” the hardness in her tone doesn’t surprise him, exactly, he’s not shocked.

“How will I know you’re following?” he asks.

“where else do I have to go.” an answer that is good enough for him. he begins their walk out of the forest. now, they are facing the way the wind is coming from. the wind whistles in his ears, rain pounds against his face. his whole body feels like it’s fighting against this great wind, against the instinct to fall back and curl up and wait it out. but Orpheus is waiting for him to come home soon, he’s probably already worried sick, probably ready to burst out of the house and start a search party.

and true to her word, the girl is still there when they near the house. she’s shivering from head to foot but she’s there.

“do you live alone?” is her next question, an oddly out of left field one but he finds to qualms with answering it while he digs his keys out of pocket.

“no,” he says, beginning to unlock the door. “with my godson.”

“how...” she licks her lips. “how old is he?”

he frowns. “nineteen. why?”

she looks like she’s going to be sick.

he doesn’t open the door quite yet, “dear, you alright?”

“yes,” she says, brushing her soaked bangs out of her eyes. “yes, I am.”

he opens the door to the warmth of the bar, the dim glowing golden light that casts a hale of light onto the drenched ground around the doorway. “get inside, c’mon.”

she hesitates for a long few seconds before stepping inside, her whole body dripping (as is his) into the hardwood floor of the room. he closes the door behind him, and as if on cue, Orpheus comes running down the stairs, tripping over his feet.

“Mister Hermes-” he stops short at the sight of their guest. his eyes train on her, his mouth parted wide.

“Orpheus, would you get a couple towels please?” Hermes doesn’t even acknowledge the girl, he can already sense the fight or flight mode flying up in her. she twists the hem of her coat around her thumb, a blush spreading across her cheeks at her presence even being noticed. he has this strange feeling that she is not used to being noticed all that much.

Orpheus comes back with a couple of their ratty towels, his eyes never leaving the girl, on her always, on her face and just... watching. Hermes knows that Orpheus can be slightly... overbearing at times. he’s tempted to tell him to not stare at her so openly but due to the confusion of the moment and the fact that they have other priorities at the moment, he holds back.

“Orpheus,” he says his name again, getting his attention. “go downstairs and start up the furnace? we’ve gotta get some warmth back into this place.”

Orpheus nods, having said not two words since coming down those stairs and spotting the girl. Orpheus falls easily but this is one person that Hermes does not want Orpheus falling for. she’ll be gone within a week, he can tell.

“I won’t be asking you any questions,” Hermes says, turning to her. “you keep to yourself until this storm passes over, then you go where you please. alright?”

she nods. “alright.”

“I’ll get you some clean clothes, stay right there.”


	2. EURYDICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the storm still raging about, Eurydice has to keep her walls up despite the kindness of the people that surround her.

EURYDICE is not alright. she is afraid, and shivering, and cold, and wants to sleep forever. she is bruised and young and in a place she’s never been before: in the hands of men who care. her entire body is _screaming_ at her to run out of this place, to hell with the rain, she wants to run right into the ocean. that’s why she came here, for the ocean. she wanted to feel the tangible salt in the air, run her fingers through the sand. she wants to make _sandcastles dammit._ she wants to sit criss cross like a child and scream as the waves wash to the shore in huge heaps of foam. she wants to regain the childhood she never had, she’s twenty and she’s never felt sand between her toes. she lived a mere few hours away from a beach and never went home with her tongue tasting like salt.

the two men of the house bustle about like she isn’t there. the older man- Mister Hermes- had handed her a bundle of dry clothes but hadn’t told her where to change or where she was allowed to go. and the boy- Orpheus- is now coming up from the stairs carrying some towels in his arms. his eyes have fear in them as he approaches her, she leans back, resisting the urge to take a step towards the tables. but that shows fear, she isn’t weak, she isn’t afraid (she is) and she can’t show weakness.

“h-here.” oh, so he’s afraid too. he’s afraid of a girl who looks terrifying and terrified at the same time. she knows that her black makeup must be running down her face by now like onyx tears. her eyes, just as dark, must contain the emptiness of dozens of people. and maybe, if you looked the right way, you could start to see the purplish blue of a bruise creeping up both sides of her neck, and if she took off her coat, you could make out the shape of a handprint on either side of her neck. she will not being taking off her coat.

“thank you.” she keeps her eyes downcast from his, who does not attempt to not stare at her. and it isn’t an intruding stare but it makes her feel naked. like he can look at her and see the deepest secrets she holds close to her chest. the ones she would never dare speak aloud.

he backs away, walking backwards a few steps before thinking better of it and turning around, only to trip over his feet. clumsy, young, naive. the exact opposite of her.

she opens her mouth, closes it, opens it, closes it. repeats it again and again until she opts for clearing her throat to get Mister Hermes’ attention from his position behind the bar where he is searching under it for something.

“yes?” he says, looking up.

“where can I-” she holds up the bundle of clothes and towel.

“oh!” he startles himself with the realization that she’s a girl and won’t strip down in front of the two of them. “bathroom is up the stairs, first door to the left.”

she thanks him quietly, starting up the stairs with her bag on her shoulder. the wood is old and creaking and has obviously been held up for years and years. it’s worn in places that have been touched over and over, smooth and glossy and finished from years of wear and tear. at one time, she might’ve loved the smell of this place, like beer and the residual scent of bar food. she knows that smell well. some might have spent their childhoods in candy shops, up against the side of a park. her reminiscence comes from cacophony of voices and music, the yelling of gamblers, all squashed into one tiny room. at one time in her life, she would’ve felt nostalgia over these smells.

now, her stomach churns at the memories.

the bathroom is small, with a rusty old sink and a shower head in the corner with an old fashioned bathtub. she’d like nothing more than a hot shower right now but holds back her wants, water bills are expensive these days. some of the less fortunate (herself included) are commonly acquainted with the idea of limited water supply per week. she does however, splash her face with water from the sink briefly before looking in the mirror.

this is not the girl she remembers. she is not the girl she once knew when she looked in the mirror.

no wonder Orpheus was scared, she’s scary. her eyes bloodshot, dark bags underneath them. bruises peeking out of her coat collar. and under her coat, a little body with hips sticking out, arms somehow twig sized and toned with muscle gained over the years. she looks like a creature, like an animal you might find in the depths of the ocean. hair everywhere, cheekbones sharp… when was the last time she had a proper meal? if she’s being honest, probably years. she feels this sense of betrayal looking at herself. she lost herself over what? over her pride, over her sense of self recognition. she needed to be a _person_ so she fought and cried and screamed when they tried to take that away. little did she know that she was destined to be a creature anyways.

she lets her coat fall to the floor in a soaking pile of fabric, next to her bag. her fingers run freely over her neck, tracing the bruises that create patterns crawling all the way up from her collarbones, culminating in clear-ish handprints on her neck. it’s so very obvious that she can barely take it. she tries to convince herself that _no one can tell you’re in the clear no one knows no one knows nooneknowsnooneknowsnooneknowsnooneknowsnooneknows_

_no one can know_

she looks away from the mirror, from the creature looking back at her. peeling off all of her other clothes except for her underclothes, she lets them all drop to the floor. she observes each of them individually, a ripped slip dress, old black tights. she removes her boots too, as those are soaked to the sole. she avoids the mirror, she does not want to see those bruises extend beyond her collarbones to where she knows they sit… her ribs burn, her stomach churns, her spine aches. she hurts everywhere.

the clothes Mister Hermes gave to her are obviously childrens clothes, probably Orpheus’. anything else of either of theirs would not fit her. these ones may still be too big. she holds it up to her body… it will hang too loosely, what she has gone through will be on full display. her pain will be there to be looked at and she knows she will be stared at like she is an animal in some zoo.

_be brave, be strong, deny it, just deny it, they’ll never know_

_you can leave as soon as this blows over, you can go to the ocean_

she pulls on the shirt, the loose pants she was given too. her toes are cold, but her socks are wet too. everything she is, everything she wore that represented who she was is gone. she is stripped down, she is as naked as any baby. she’s as helpless as the same. or so she feels. stuck in one place, not being able to leave, it makes her feel antsy. she is constantly moving, like the undercurrents of the ocean. ever flowing, ever changing.

deep breath in, deep breath out.

she leaves the bathroom. she doesn’t care what they think of her. they aren’t going to care… and anyways, she could’ve gotten these bruises from falling in the forest or anywhere else.

on the way down the stairs, her heart rate speeds up. to a rate where her entire body feels each and every beat. her chest throbs with every heartbeat, every breathe, every pulsating beat. she’s afraid, that’s the feeling, she’s feeling fear. she wants nothing more than to burrow under the earth, sleep for years and years, hibernate for the rest of her life. to comfort herself, she clutches her clothes close to her chest. despite the fact that it leaves a wet patch on her shirt. it’s keeping her present. the cold of the water is keeping her mind sharp.

relief courses through her that all that she gets in response for walking down the stairs is a frown from Mister Hermes. no one is noticing, this is good. this is good.

“you can put those wet clothes by the door leading to the basement,” he points towards it, not looking at her. “I’ll wash them.”

“Oh, you don’t-”

“it’s no trouble, I’m going to be washing mine, just put them there.” his voice is firm enough that she argues no more. for a moment, her whole body sparks with the instinct to apologize. and she has to remind herself that she apologizes to no one now, she is her own person. her apology is only to be given out to those who deserve it for things that matter.

she puts them by the door.

Mister Hermes leaves the room, to go upstairs, supposedly to go up to the bathroom as well. and Eurydice is alone.

she is alone and can be weak.


	3. ORPHEUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orpheus can see the girl pulling herself away but he can already feel a melody building in him.

ORPHEUS thinks the girl is pretty. it’s a problem and Mister Hermes gives him a look when they pass each other in the hall upstairs. there is too much to unpack in the entire look but he mostly understands the sentiment of “do not get attached”. the same sentiment that was said whenever Orpheus would bring home something from the forest. funny how, this time, it’s Mister Hermes who brought something back with him. and that something is very pretty and has this energy like he could write songs about her for ages.

he’s already humming a melody under his breath when he starts down the stairs, his fingers are already tapping out a rhythm on the side of his leg. he wants to get out his guitar and put the two together, add some lyrics and sing it as loud as he can. proclaim that he has this new song in his head and he must get it out or else he may lose the right rhythm, the right notes, he may never get the melody exactly right again.

he distracted from his music however, when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and spots the girl, now slumped over in a seat, her whole body trembling. clothed in what looks like one of his old t-shirts. he tries to ignore the latter and focus on everything else.

“hey.” he calls, speeding his steps to reach her before she can get up and leave… leave? where is she going to go? he slows down. her head lifts up suddenly and he has this strange feeling that if she were anywhere else, anywhere with a door leading out to a place that isn’t storming, she would run. go anywhere but talk to him. which is saddening because he’d do anything just to hear her voice again. like tiny silver bells, her voice. if she sang, he wouldn’t be surprised. her speaking voice, from what few words she has said, already sounds melodic.

“are- are you okay?” he asks. his voice shakes, for what reason? he’s nervous, she scares him because of how much he wants to know her. he looks in her eyes and it’s like he’s seen them before. it’s like he’s known her before this lifetime but doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know her face. his arms ache to hold her, to wrap them around her body and just sway there. if he was a gambler, he would bet that her hair smelled like flowers. he doesn’t know why but looking at her, he can imagine a red flower tucked behind her ear. it would contrast with her dark hair, bring out the pinkness in those cheeks of hers. he’d like to present her with a flower, get down on one knee and give her something. but all he has is his words, and though he is not as comfortable with those as he is with song, it will have to do.

she shifts her body to face him, every movement filled with hesitancy.

“what happened to your neck?” he blurts out. he regrets the words immediately, knows that he’s made a mistake. even more dark fills the girl’s eyes, her entire body seems to cave into itself.

before she can even begin to answer, if she was going to answer at all, he begins on his tirade of furtive apologies.

“I’m sorry- I didn’t mean- I’m really sorry… it’s not my business I know. I really am sorry, I know I’m not supposed to ask things like that. I’m sorry, sor-”

finally, she holds up her hand. “It’s fine. really.”

that voice. full of light for someone who looks so acquainted with darkness.

“what’s your name?” he asks, his fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. he has to ask, he has to try, but he knows that as soon as he knows her name he’ll never be able to let her go. she doesn’t answer, instead shifts to sit facing the table.

he sits down in the seat opposite her. at the same time, tries not to stare at the bruises that lie so plainly on her neck, purple and painful and so obviously… fresh. new. recent.

“do you need ice?” he licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. “for your…” he gestures to his own neck.

she shakes her head. “no.”

“sorry, it just looks painful…” she ducks her head, but he catches the faintest of soft laughs.

“you apologize too much.” she says. the longest sentence he’s gotten out of her yet. a win at the very least.

“yeah,” he smiles at her, beaming practically. “I get that a lot.”

she observes him strangely, him with his wide smile, him with his folding and unfolding hands on the table, he must look so strange to her. Orpheus doesn’t know why he’s always regarded as an oddity but she seems like an oddity too, so maybe they can coexist as creatures together.

“when I was still in school,” he begins. she narrows her eyes at him. “I fell off of a tree once. and I got this big giant bruise up the side of my face. all of my teachers thought someone had punched me. they called home and everything.”

“what are-”

“I tried to tell them that no one had hurt me, that it had been my stupid self who’d climbed _all the way up_ up in that big pine tree just to see what it looked like from up there, from all the way up there. but it was worth it, even if on my climb down gravity pulled me to the forest floor. I told them that it was my fault that I had the bruise, and they kept telling me that they were sure it hadn’t been my fault and I didn’t deserve to get hurt. no one believed me. until they called Mister Hermes and he told them what a clumsy kid I was and how all I ever wanted to do was climb in trees all the time. It was so stupid, they didn’t believe me until an adult told them the exact same thing. I still like climbing trees though. not as much as I used to.”

silence falls between them and he feels his cheeks burning bright red, redder than the flower that he invisions in her hair. brighter than the light of the hearth downstairs in the furnace.

“sorry, I talk a lot when I’m-”

“what did I say about apologizing, kid?” she leans back in her chair, arms crossed against her midriff.

“that I… do it too much.” her laces his fingers together briefly, decides that looks too awkward and unlaces them. instead placing them flatly on his lap.

“so don’t do it anymore.”

“but-”

“apologizing is only for people who deserve it. don’t say it unless it’s necessary. too many apologies have been wasted on people who don’t deserve it.” her beams at the comment, she won’t meet his eye and he doesn’t mind. no one really looks him in the eyes except for Mister Hermes, he’s used to it. “and besides, I liked your story… it was nice.”

“thank you. and you do deserve apologies. I’ll just figure out something else to apologize for me. I mean, you _deserve_ apologies, I won’t apologize for nothing but you deserve good things.”

she opens her mouth, closes it again. speechless. for good reasons? he can never be sure. he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.

“I’m not good with words-”

“this sounds like an apology.”

“it isn’t, I promise.” she turns her head to the side, staring at the floor under the table. carefully avoiding him, maybe hoping that when she looks up, he’ll be gone. he’s good with that, he can come to terms with that.

“I’m not good with words, but you’re really nice-”

“nice?” she covers her mouth to conceal a laugh.

“and hurt and I’d like to help you and be your friend.”

she’s still laughing, covering her face from the nose down with her hands. her shoulders are shaking up and down. it seems, to him, that she hasn’t laughed in awhile. it’s rusty, with these little hiccups sprinkled in. he wants to bottle this sound, save it for later as a reminder for her that she can laugh. that it is an ability she has. he’s afraid he’ll never hear this sound again. he’s afraid that he’ll go his whole life without hearing her laugh again. this is the kind of laugh that can, at any moment, make a complete 360 degree turn into sobs. and it isn’t long before it does.

a laugh turns into a sniff and he’s already getting up out of his seat, and kneeling down by her chair. he isn’t sure if this is too close, if it’s too intimate, if she’s going to stand up and move to a different table.

to his surprise, she turns to look at him and shakes her head. “I’m not nice.”

“you are.” he insists. “you’re really nice.”

“no. I’m not.” she firmly says it this time. with a fervor of someone who’s been told it before, who has said it to herself many times.

“well, even if you aren’t, I think you are.” he smiles at her, looking up. “and you’re really pretty and I think you should stay.”

“stay?” she quickly wipes the wetness from under her eyes, as if she can pretend it wasn’t there in the first place.

“after the storm is over, you should stay here.”

“Orpheus, you don’t even know my name, for god’s’ sakes. you don’t even know where I came from, or who I am. you don’t know what you’re inviting into your home without consideration.”

“you could tell me your name.” he takes one of her hands in his, tentatively, watching her for a reaction. if she wanted to pull away, she could. he keeps his grip loose, making sure that it never feels as if he is pinning her down.

“I could,” she looks at their touching hands, at their fingers close together. “but then you’d get attached. you don’t name something unless you plan on keeping it.”

“that’s not true.” he says lightly. “you name something because you care.”

“you don’t care. you don’t even know me. it’s impossible for someone to care that fast.”

he purses his lips, trying to think of a way he can get through to her. he won’t force her to stay but he wants to try.

“can I sing you a song?” her lips perk up into a forced half smile.

“sure, sing a song, kid.” he can hear the hope behind her words. the implication that this is how she will escape, that the song will mean nothing and do nothing and so she has no reason to stay. or a love song will give her a reason to leave. he will not be using the word love in this song, it isn’t a love to her. it’s a love song to humanity, that’s what he calls it.

he grabs his guitar from its stand over by the bar and sits in a chair close to the girl. he prays to the gods that Mister Hermes doesn’t come downstairs right at this moment, he begins to play. and as he begins to pluck out the first few notes, he starts to incorporate that theme he has had in his head since he first laid eyes on her. the one he’d been humming in the hall and on the stairs. the two melodies mix together beautifully and he opens his mouth to sing.

_la la la la la la la_

_la la la la la la la_

_la la la la la la_

the song is short, but sweet. it wasn’t perfect, it isn’t finished but, man, if he isn’t content with how it’s coming along he doesn’t know what will make him happy. he’s so caught up in the progress that he made while playing it aloud he’d briefly forgotten his live audience.

“why are you crying again?” he stands up, concern rippling through him.

“I’m not-” she has to stop because of something lodged in her throat, something stuck there that prevents her from defending her useless case.

she stands from her place at the table and meets him halfway. she’s much smaller than he expected her to be, standing face to face, on level ground, she has to tilt her head up to meet his eye. and she finally meets his eye.

she reaches up and lays a hand on his cheek, “my name is Eurydice.”

_her name is like a melody._


	4. PERSEPHONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Persephone didn’t expect a girl to be in the house with her brother and his godson, but she’ll be damned if she lets her get away without opening up a tiny bit.

PERSEPHONE allows herself a couple of hours before getting worried about the storm. she’d said to herself, over and over, it’ll pass over soon enough. the ocean can only be upset for so long. but as the hours creep by and she realizes that her mark for checking up on her brother and nephew is growing steadily closer, her worry grows and grows and grows until it is taking over her body. forcing her feet into her flower patterned rain boots, putting on layers on layers to make sure her bottom layer doesn’t get soaked and she doesn’t get sick. as she does all of this, her nagging husband tries to convince her to stay back.

“Hermes is a smart man, he’ll take care of himself and that boy of his. it’s dangerous out there.” he follows on her heels as she searches around their house for a hat to use.

“you forget, Hades,” she remarks while searching a closet. “that I care about people more than I care about myself. I’m going to check up on my family. you can come if you wish.”

she knows he’s going to tag along. he loves her too much to let her trudge through a hurricane by herself.

hearing his large sigh as, he too, gets his rain things together and stuffs his boots with another pair of socks Persephone is quite sure she’s going to hear about this tomorrow when they are both bedridden and sick from the wet and the cold. she’s ready to head out long before he’s ready. his moves sluggish as Persephone leans against the door.

“Hades, this is serious. they live close to the water, we don’t know how flooded it is!”

“I know, I know.”

when finally, _finally_ they both have their things together and can get out the door, she rushes out the door with a fervor of someone on a mission. she has a goal and she’s going to get there, storm be damned, ocean be damned, she’s going to check on her nephew and her brother even if mother nature decides to turn its forces against her. she’s going to get there even if it takes hours to maneuver through the storm.

Hades’ holds her hand tightly as they fight against the scarily strong winds, flips her hair around, gets into every crevice of her skin, into every piece of fabric on her body. she’s shivering already and they’ve only been outside for barely two minutes.

“Seph!” Hades calls from behind her. “turn back! wait until it passes!”

“not today!” she calls back, tugging on his hand harder and pulling him forward through the wind and rain. the water, combined with the speed of the wind, feels like little knives digging against her cheek but just like almost all of her decisions, she is motivated by love and passion. she is going to get there, even if it takes her days to do it, she’s going to get there dammit. she’ll push through mud, trudge through the forest for hours, swim across an ocean, to get to her family.

“there! right there!” Hades yells. “I can see a light!”

they veer a tight left turn and there it is, the bar with golden light streaming from its windows, making slots of light where she can see the torrential rain pouring buckets over the ground. she can barely feel it anymore, can barely feel her fingers despite her gloves, can feel the tip of her nose going numb.

Hades places a hand on her back, steering her closer to the door. she pushes away from him, whipping her soaking hair around her shoulder so that it nearly hits him. nearly. and raises her fist to knock on the door, before she can, however, the door whips open and there’s the boy’s silhouette casting a shadow through golden hazy bar light.

“Lady Persephone!” his voice, the normal quality of it slightly changed for some reason but wholly the same pitch and the same tone, welcoming them both inside the open arms. “come inside, please, you’re soaked to the skin.”

Persephone, wiping water from her eyes, steps inside the warmth of the bar. followed closely by Hades. she begins peeling off her layers of soaked coats, shaking her hair of the little droplets of water that have yet to fall off or soak in.

“how did you come all this way? _why_ did you come all this way?” Orpheus asks as he takes her first layer from her arms.

“I was worried about the two of-”

she stops. it seems she’s mistaken for saying that there are _two_ of them in this house. because there, leaning against a table not too far away from where Orpheus signature guitar leans, is a girl. a girl with bruises that Persephone can already make out from this distance. over the years, she’s learned to pick out people with hurt. working at a children’s mental hospital, she’s grown horrifyingly acute at picking these children apart from one look. she tries to stop herself but one look at this girl with bruises and bumps and bones sticking out every which way and ribs most definitely showing under the baggy shirt that does not belong to her, Persephone knows that there is so much hurt buried in her.

she tries to tell herself that she won’t pull her aside to talk about it, but as Orpheus guides Persephone and her husband farther inside, closer to the girl, she knows she will. she will not be able to let this go, knowing that someone has hurt her this deeply. that if Persephone doesn’t say something soon, she’ll never get the chance because _oh,_ this girl is a runner. when this storm blows over? she’ll be gone like a shot. she sees herself in her, sees the fear, sees the want to get out and go. and knowing herself, this girl will not be around for much longer.

Hermes comes a-stomping down the stairs, interrupting the conversation that had begun to slow. conveniently attracting Persephone’s away from the girl and onto her brother.

“Hermes! thank the gods!” she throws an arm around him after meeting him halfway from the stairs. “we came to check up on you guys-”

“she was very worried.” Hades drawls.

“shush.” Persephone scolds. “and the power went out at our place anyways.”

“well, Orpheus just fixed up the furnace downstairs so our place should be pretty toasty for at least a couple of hours. can I fix up anything for you all? we have some cider that I can warm up.” Hermes says, keeping the conversation fluid and warm feeling.

“that sounds wonderful, thank you.” Persephone replies. “Hades?”

“I’m good but thank you.” just like Hades, has he ever accepted a drink in a house besides his own? that’s a conversation for later, but she files it back to where she can access it later and ask him.

“Orpheus?”

“I’d love some, thanks.”

“and what about you, dear?”

the only person left in the room doesn’t lift her head, doesn’t acknowledge her being referenced. Persephone’s heart aches, it aches so badly that she wants to reach out and grab this girls flushed face with her two hands. wants to brush her hair and kiss her cheeks. she’s felt maternal instincts before, working with children can do that to you, but never before has she wanted so desperately to comfort someone who doesn’t even seem to be in terrible distress.

she reminds Persephone too much of a younger version of herself.

she wants to do to her what Persephone wishes someone would’ve done for her at that age.

and before Persephone can reach out, say something like “I think he’s talking to you hon” Orpheus is there. bumping his fist against her arm very gently. it’s a small but meaningful touch, and Persephone notices one very important fact right away: she does not pull away, nor does flinch at his touch when she realizes that it is him who has touched her. details, details. so much to unpack.

“yes?” she looks up, short, not terse, but practically on edge.

“cider?” Hermes holds up an empty mug.

“oh, no thank you, I’m alright.” she shakes her head, black frizzy waves falling in front of her face for a moment.

Hermes hesitates before starting to fill up a couple of cups of cider behind the bar. “sit down, I’ll be there momentarily.”

they drag chairs to fill all of them around one small round table, leaving one open for Hermes to sit in. the silence falls over them in waves, the occasional deep breath in or out breaks the spell, but one person has to spark something to talk about. unfortunately, Hades is the one to do that.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” he says, addressing the girl. “what’s someone like you doing in these parts?”

she doesn’t have trouble identifying that she’s being spoken to this time. she made that mistake once, she will be careful with her words now. “oh, I was just traveling and got caught in the storm. Mister Hermes is a kind man. agreed to let me stay here until it blows over.”

she’s a good liar. that’s for certain.

“traveling where? not much farther before you hit the ocean, just past the town actually.” Hades interrogation mode is on, he leans forward in his seat, leaning his elbows against the table.

“nowhere certain. I wasn’t planning on going to school so I thought, why not? before I settle down, get a job and such, might as well get out and about. this is a pretty landscape, I can’t wait to see it more when the storm is gone.” her voice is almost robotic, but not so obviously so that if someone wasn’t good at detecting it, they wouldn’t notice. she’s had experience lying, probably told this same lie dozens of times.

“so you’re planning on staying then?” Hades asks, quirking one eyebrow.

“Oh, I-I- um...” her lie comes to a strict halt at the idea of making future plans, so does her fake confidence.

“you don’t have to answer that, it’s okay.” Orpheus speaks up for the first time in this conversation. he’s not usually this defensive, doesn’t usually stand up to Hades like this. Persephone is proud of him. “the storm could end tonight or in a week or longer, we- we really don’t know.”

Orpheus gives the girl a shy smile (which she doesn’t return) and Persephone can tell there’s something there, something blooming and it hurts her to watch. the girl is going to run before Orpheus can even get a word out about his feelings. she’ll run from something like that even if there’s still a storm brewing outside, the storm brewing inside is worse.

Hermes arrives with cups of cider in his hands, he passes them around the table. one for Persephone, one for Orpheus, one for himself that he leaves at his open seat, and one that he slides across the table to the girl.

she glances from it to him. “I don’t need-”

“warm yourself, dear.” that’s all he says before looking away and not giving her another look or word on that matter.

But Persephone just sits in wait, waiting for the girl to get up and leave and give her an opening to talk to her.

she doesn’t have to wait long. she practically knows this girls mind, their tickers work so similar.

“I’m going to,” she stands up, wiping her hands on the fabric on the pants she’s wearng. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Persephone waits exactly five seconds before getting up and following without an explanation for the rest of them.

she expects her to be sitting in an enclosed room or behind a bookshelf but no, she sits just out of the way of the stairs, just out of view of those downstairs. probably close enough to hear them. her hands rub across her face, as if she’s trying to wake herself up.

Persephone holds a hand. “c’mere, I wanna talk to you.”

the girl lifts her head to meet Persephone’s eyeline, face shrouded in darkness, eyes covered in a faint layer of apprehension.

“what?”

“we’ll put a cold compress on those bruises of yours, and for the love of the gods, stop rubbing at yours eyes and get some sleep.” the girl blinks at her stark words, Persephone pulls no punches and doesn’t plan on stopping for this girl. if anything, she’s being more forward with her than she would be with someone else completely normal.

to Persephone’s surprise, the girl reaches up and takes her hand, pulling herself up very quickly and letting go of her hand just as fast.

Persephone can hear her footsteps following her, she doesn’t doubt for a second that when she turns around when they get to the bathroom that she’ll be there. and she’s right, the girl awkwardly leans against the doorway as Persephone’s turns on the faucet and throws a hand towel in with the flow of water.

“close the door please.” Persephone requests, without thinking.

“can we leave the door open?” she asks, hands twitching at her sides. “please?”

“oh, oh of course.” Persephone remembers how a long time ago, she didn’t like enclosed spaces either. and despised them when she was in a small space with another person. in this small bathroom, she would’ve looked for whatever weapons were available, would’ve looked for any way out. it’s another reminder at how similar these two women are, or rather, a woman and a girl. two sides of the same coin, essentially, sewed from the same cloth. different, but the same. Persephone desperately wants to know her story but holds back her questions and concerns. she’ll never admit anything if she’s being pestered.

“here, press this to your neck.” she hands her the wrung out hand towel. “it’ll help the bruises to go away quicker and help with whatever pain your feeling.”

“thank you.” the girl says softly, movements slow and unsure as if at any moment Persephone might turn around and snap the cloth at her instead of hand it over.

“anything else bothering you?”

“no, I’m fine.” she insists, carefully pressing the compress over one side of her neck. “how- how do you know all this?”

“if I’m a good guesser, which I am,” Persephone leans back against the sink, her fingers curling around the smooth tile. “I’d say I was like you, dear.”

the girl’s lips part slightly with surprise, just barely letting out the small audible breath of what seems like relief. an understanding passes between them. _you’re like me, I’m like you, we understand one another._

and Persephone throws out her first question, hoping it’s a soft ball that she can actually get an answer out of. “how old are _these_ bruises?”

she brushes hair out of her face, pushing her bangs back a little. all to avoid her eyeline again. “about a day.”

Persephone nods. “did you go right after or did you wait until night?”

“why are you-”

“please, just answer the question.”

she licks her lips. “I-I waited. until it was dark.”

“good.” she nods slowly. she isn’t sure if she should risk a more difficult question, a question that might actually reveal something about her.

“can you tell me who did this to you? your brother, father, sister, mother, friend, boyfriend? anybody.”

she can practically feel the girl shrink back into herself, what little of herself that she had put on display is now closed into a little tiny box and the key is thrown away. the words are written clearly on her face: _no, that’s too close._

“it doesn’t matter who.” she switches the cold compress to the other side of her neck.

“it definitely matters, no matter what you tell yourself or what other people tell-”

“stop talking like that.” she interrupts. “just- stop. I don’t want to be picked apart, okay?”

“okay, I’m sorry.” Persephone says softly, turning away. “my husband is a jackass, don’t listen to a word that he says.”

“he- he’s really... eccentric, isn’t he?” she gives a half smile. a smile to convince that everything is real, and she’s okay. “why do you stay with him if he’s a jackass?”

“because I love him. and he isn’t a bad person; he just doesn’t know what words come out of his mouth sometimes.” Persephone holds out her hand, palm up. “can I see that towel?”

she tentatively hands it over, Persephone wets it again, this time with warm water. “you have dirt all over your face... may I?”

“no.” she grabs the cloth from her and goes to the mirror, starting to wipe at the dirt the almost stains her cheeks and face. as if its been there so long that it can’t come off, that she has to keep tearing through layers and layers of skin to try to clean herself. “are you a mom? is that why you keep trying to mother me?”

“I can’t have children.”

her hand stills mid-wipe, “oh.”

“I’m just trying to help, hon.” Persephone says quietly, observing the girl’s quivering head, holding so still that her whole little body seems to be trembling under the effort.

there’s a long pause, far too long than for either women’s liking but finally, the girl speaks up, her voice softer than before. far less intruding and loud than before.

“My mother always said she wished she couldn’t have children,” she says. “she’d say ‘Eurydice, as soon as you were born, I knew I hated children’. she had four more after, for some reason.”

“my mother was pretty similar, if I have any say.” Persephone says.

the girl- _eurydice-_ chuckles under breath, “mothers.”

“they don’t define us, we don’t have to be like them.” Persephone comes to stand closer to the sink, not touching her but wanting to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and tell her that she isn’t who she has always been attached to, who she has always been compared to. she understands the feeling, of wanting to be _different,_ of wanting to be somebody unexpected, somebody memorable.

for a moment, seriousness seeps out from where it lies in her eyes and settles on her face. the mask falls away for the tiniest, briefest second and they meet eyes.

“thank you.” and it feels genuine. these few moments stuck in a bathroom, away from the chaos of downstairs and the memories in their head are full of genuine feeling for almost the first time.


	5. HADES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> with all that’s happening around the new arrival, Hades finds himself being villainized as his family members grow more and more protective over Eurydice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s been so long since I posted to this thank you for any support!!! I totally understand if anyone has lost interest!! 💗

HADES is the scapegoat. he can tell. he’s always glared at across the table, fingers pointed at him. even when he was younger, and he and Persephone’s relationship was new and fresh, her mother was still breathing down her Persephone’s back and Hades was a poor boy trying to start a business in an empty warehouse. now, years and years later, their wedding bands have created a tan ring around their fingers. they can feel the time in the way they act, in the way that their family members know them so well. Hermes could probably predict what he’ll say next, as much as Hades hates to admit it. his family knows him best and it is truly damning.

“so the girl...” he begins.

“if you say one thing that rubs me the wrong way, Hades, you’ll be back out there in that storm.” Hermes is rarely moved to anger, if ever, so he feels shaken and can tell that the boy is as well. Orpheus’ eyes widen slightly, he’s a fidgety boy but never this fidgety. his hands are everywhere, one of his legs is bouncing and then suddenly the other one is. he’s nervous, or afraid, or scared, or just... fidgety. Persephone always says that Orpheus reads like an open book but maybe Hades just isn’t a good reader. he’s never been good at being a people person, and somehow, he has a wife who would rather spend a day with a huge crowd rather than a quiet night in. rather hang out at Hermes’ bar rather than sit with her husband. the time is slowly digging between them. he can feel it.

he holds up both hands slightly, a back down. “I wasn’t. I’m just concerned. when you let strays-”

“don’t call her that.” Orpheus pipes up finally. “she isn’t- she’s not some stray.”

like he said, a scapegoat. he can’t get three words out before getting cut off. he just wants to say things and let his opinion be heard. he knows... he knows his mistakes. he acknowledges them. but they continue to bring them up day after day after day.

“Hermes... can we talk? in private?” Hermes stays silent but stands, leaving Orpheus watching the two of them with fearful eyes.

they walk to stand by the stairs, shielded from Orpheus view behind part of the wall.

“Hermes, I say this in the most honest way I can. I’m not trying to antagonize you, I’m not trying to be a villain, but is it a good idea to have that girl here?”

“I will not throw an innocent girl out into a storm-”

“I’m not saying that but do you see that boys eyes?” he lifts his hand and barely gestures to Orpheus.

“what are you talk-”

“he is going to fall in love with her.” he whispers. “you know it, I know it, and with what chaos she is probably going to bring our way, is that a good idea? for this town? for the well-being of your godson? look me in the eyes and honestly tell me you want to put that burden on him.”

they meet eyes, holding it for the longest they’ve ever held it in the many years they’ve known each other. “I would never wish a burden on him... but if he falls in love, I cannot stop it.”

“even if it means causing him harm? do you see her bruises? there is someone coming after her, why else would she be in that storm if not for the urgency of running away? you would wish an abuser on your godson?” the air between them could cause lightning, there is no lightning in a hurricane but the sparks flying between could cause such a feat.

“I would never wish harm to him, but I raised him to be a good person and he would never let an innocent girl endure that on her own. I wouldn’t ask for this but I can’t stop the inevitable. I can’t stop love.” the air between them stops, so does their eye contact. Hades knows Hermes is right, that Orpheus is an obstinate young man, a gentle one, but stubborn nevertheless.

they are completely broken apart by a huge gust of wind practically blowing through every crack of wood, through every bone in their body.

“the storms getting worse.” Hermes says softly. “we’ll be here for awhile. i’ll set up the guest room for you and Seph, the girl can take Orpheus’ room, he’ll sleep with me on the cot.”

“it’s been awhile since the last storm, you’re quite prepared.” Hades comments. he remembers every storm that ever hit these banks so clearly, every one of them, the fear as the winds threaten to take everything he worked so hard for, everything he holds dear. the water rises every day, the entire town sits on edge until it’s sunk to low tide again and they can breath. that’s the sacrifice of living in a seafaring town, they have to learn how to live with the ocean’s threats. it used to be a fisherman’s town, but once Hades set up his factory, that all changed. now, it’s full of young workers searching for a job, dreamers trying to get a days wages for just a night in a hotel. or a drink at a bar. this is not the town either Hades nor Hermes remembers.

“I never forget.” they both remember the last storm, not quite this big but almost as much. 18 years ago, the storm that took not just their crops and many of their roofs but a beloved life. a mother, a friend. Orpheus was only one. he doesn’t remember. but Hades can see that Hermes is on edge.

because here, almost on the 19th anniversary of losing a beloved family member, they receive the presence of another young woman who acts much like the antsy pregnant woman they had to come to love for those brief two years. a year and eight months, he should say.

she was one of the few who saw the good in him, too bad that her son can only see the darkness when his mother saw the light buried far under his calluses and harsh words.

they turned quickly when they heard footsteps, Persephone comes first, her green dress sweeping at her feet. her face is solemn and eyes scanning the room for seemingly the rest of them. when she catches Hades’ eyes, she jerks her head to the side. eyes have a clear message we need to talk.

she leans her head up to look him in the eyes, sometimes he forgets that he’s so much taller than her, either because her confidence makes up for her stature or because she refuses to meet his eyeline. he forgets sometimes how beautiful his wife is, her eyes with smile lines around them, with skin so shining and never waxy and always fresh, lips pink and plump. she’s a beauty. like a flower with thorns and jagged edges, beautiful, dangerous, and oh so tempting. you pick a rose not just because of the beauty but because there’s something so poetic about it.

“she’s so... lost.” she whispers, something in his wife’s eyes is so sad. something has made her sad and he wants to know what, so he can fix it. “gods, she’s so so lost.”

Hades tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “you can’t... save her. I doubt she even wants to be saved. I’m sure you understand that.”

“I do. I do, but part of me just wants to hold her even though she doesn’t want to be held. I want to dig down and get to that part of her head that’s hurting her. and on top of that, I want to track down whoever hurt her and give them a taste of what consequences they should be-”

“hey, hey,” he places hands on her shoulders, giving her arms a small squeeze. “we... we won’t let her get hurt.”

“you’re a liar, Hades. you don’t give a damn about her!” she pulls away from him quickly.

“no, I-”

“I want you to know that the moment you let that girl leave this place, that the moment you allow harm to befall her, it will be like you are directly hurting me. know this.” her voice is like poison, trickling from her tongue through the air and enveloping him. it’s a warning, he knows that if anything happens to the girl, she will single handedly blame him for not protecting her. looks like his new responsibility for keeping his marriage together is protecting a teenager.


	6. EURYDICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurydice is still out of her depth in this new place, and especially overwhelmed in Orpheus’ presence. Not that she wants to get away from him, the exact opposite, actually.

EURYDICE doesn’t like the dark. She decided that long ago, but here, where the rain pelts against the window not too far away from her head and the moon covered by storm clouds, she is more than worried about what it contains. there are no stars, there is no moon, it’s pitch black in this room that smells of that boy. it smells like Orpheus, like old wood and the faint metallic smell of guitar strings. she can hear the wind blowing through each crack of the house, she curls up against herself in this twin bed, pulling her knees to her chest.

she trembles, shivers go up her spine as she tries to contain all of her body heat under these thin covers. her body does not want to cooperate with her, so finally, finally, she convinces herself that sleep is not happening and gets up, dragging a quilt with her along the way and wrapping it about her shoulders.

she doesn’t know exactly where she’s going or why but anything is better than lying stagnant at the mercy of the dark. she’ll just wander this building until her legs are so tired she can’t stand on her own two feet anymore. It’s an old technique she’s used for a long time: no bad dreams if you don’t sleep, no being afraid of the dark if you’re sitting at candle light. no, she’s not afraid of the dark, she just doesn’t like it. she just always likes to be able to see her fingers when her hand is held out in front of her, she likes that assurency. that she’ll always be able to be covered in light.

her feet drag on the floor as well as the blanket as she carries with her. her feet are blocks of ice, numb against the scrape of the wood. she has calluses even on the bottoms of her feet, where do those come from?

Eurydice expects it to be dark when she gets downstairs but there’s a faint golden glow flowing out from behind the bar, as she turns the corner, her eyes catch a candle. with wax dripping down onto the saucer it sits on, not even a proper candle holder. they are poor, she can see that, with candles in teacup saucers because they don’t need teacups in a bar.

he’s leaning against the bar, a drink in his hand.

oh my god oh my god what’s he holding he’s holding it over my head my head hurts my clothes smell like whiskey mom’s gonna be able to tell she’s gonna know she’s gonna know she’s gonna know she’s gonna-

The clink of the glass wakes her from the breath revere. and when she glances towards it, she sees that the liquid is clearly not whiskey or alcohol of any kind. it’s white and thick, more opaque than any cocktail. He drinks warm milk when he can’t sleep… of course. of course he’s innocent like that.

“good morning.” the side of lip quirks up to the side nervously, an attempt at a joke. She gives a small courtesy smile.

“I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” she says under her breath.

“me neither.” he replies, taking another small swig of milk. “mister Hermes usually lets me spend the night down here when I can’t-”

“I can leave.”

“no! no- no, that’s totally ok!” he stumbles to reassure her, taking two steps towards her and one step back. Still one step forward, she acknowledges that in her mind. she waits for her body to move backwards away from him, but she doesn’t. she lets it be like that. one step forward. “it’s lonely, anyways. it’s nice to have company… for once.”

“don’t you have you have your-your- mister Hermes and your aunt and uncle and everyone.” she says, trying to point to how lucky he is. with this family at fingertips length, with people just up the street who would throw themselves in front of a train for him.

“yes. yes, of course, I just mean… it’s different… with you.” the tips of his ears are turning pink, and she feels the urge to back away rising in her again. “sorry. sorry, I was just about to make some tea when you came down? do you want any?”

“uh- yeah, I’d like that.” she itches the back of her neck, feeling strangely warm. tea would be nice, to give her something to do with her body while she stands there in front of this boy. who looks at her… just looks at her. He fills a kettle with water from a sink over against the wall and puts lights on a stove quickly with a match before putting the kettle over the fire.

“Here, let me-” he goes all the way around the bar and picks up two of the stools under his arms and carries them over to the other side. He sets it down, brushing it off quickly even though there’s no dust to be seen. “there, um, have a seat.”

she’s never known a gentle man that she can remember. “how old are you, Orpheus?”

Hermes already told her but she asks anyway. “I’m 19.” he says absently.

“did you go to school?”

“for awhile, I dropped out when I was 15.”

“why?”

It’s the first time she’s seen him tense around her. He shifts from foot to foot, nerves rattle through his entire body. He reads like an open book but she can’t quite figure out the meaning under the words. “I- I wasn’t a very good student.”

He’s an awful liar.

she scratches the top of the bar with her black nail polish fingernails. the silence falls around them like blankets of snow, covering her body in a fuzzy cold that infiltrates her entire body and soul.

“did… did you go to school?”

“no,” she murmurs. “no, I didn’t.”

he turns around then, concern etched across his every feature. “never?”

something in her rises up. “I’m not stupid, I-I know things, okay? I know math and all that, I can read, and all that, I just never went to… to a building. I’m not stupid.”

“I never said that, I didn’t mean that.” he rushes to say right away. the water starts to steam on the stovetop, he turns back to that as he continues speaking. “Who taught you, then? if… if you still learned.”

she doesn’t want to answer, so she doesn’t. He slides a steaming cup of tea to her. He nods and says what she couldn’t get out. “you taught yourself?”

Eurydice nods. shame is laced through her entire body, from the hands that cold the hot mug, to the tips of her hair that brush just in front of her eyes, to feet that are linked behind the bars of the stool. this shame always sits under her skin, always bubbling under the surface, she hates when it overflows into the visible eye. she doesn’t cry when she feels shame, but she sinks into herself. she falls back into habits she hates. she doesn’t speak, she doesn’t make eye contact.

“that’s alright, that’s fine,” he sits across from her, also holding a mug of steaming hot water. “you’re probably smarter than me, I never… I don’t know anything past the eighth grade.”

she wants to drink something stronger but knows he’d never let her.

“at least you have the arts to fall back on,” she says, as if they were discussing their careers. “at least you have some skill.”

“I bet you have a lot of skill,” he replies. “I bet you’re good at a lot of things.”

“depends on how you define ‘good” I guess,” she mutters. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“okay.” he says, stopping himself immediately. “what do you want to talk about? or… we don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to.”

she grips the mug harder in her grip, she won’t let her muscles relax because then she’ll start shaking.

he’s getting too close.

if she scooted her chair forward about a foot and a half, their knees would touch. Just the thought of that sends panic signals up her spine, creeping into her skull like spiders. tentative thoughts of just getting up and going. going, until she’s out the door. going until she’s lost herself in a sea of tranquility and she never- if she goes she will never have to worry about touch anymore.

if she goes, she won’t need touch anymore. That’s what she wants. That’s what she’s always wished for. for her fingertips to not feel what is underneath them. for her eyes to never water. for her body to numb and dull and lose all feeling. she doesn’t want to die, she just wants to live in a world without color. without texture. in a play doh, pillow soft, smooth world where nothing hurts… and there’s no one to hurt. she can’t possibly remain here where this boy resides, knowing full well she will hurt him.

“I-I don’t…” she doesn’t know what she wants anymore. she doesn’t know why she’s here.

“I’m cold.” she admits.

“oh!” he jumps out of his chair. “it’s super warm down in the basement, where the furnace is. we keep a sofa down there, if you’d want to go. it’s really cozy.”

“I- um, alright.” she slips off of the stool, quilt still wrapped around her shoulders. He’s so eager. something in her tells her to stop, to not go down there with him, but the other part, the part that watched him drink goddamn warm milk in a bar follows him willingly. with his open palms and warm eyes, she follows him. with a swift look over his shoulder to make sure she’s following, he leads across the bar to a sidedoor.

“watch your head when you reach the bottom.” he warns, before descending into darkness.

it’s pitch black down there. no way.

“Orpheus!” she calls, hugging herself close. “Orpheus, there’s a light down there, right?”

A pause. “Orpheus?”

silence for a brief moment, a moment that lasts too long. where her heart stutters and she’s quite sure something has happened to him.

“the electricity is out, I’m just lighting some candles. one second! you can come down, it’s not as dark as it looks!” his unaccompanied voice floats up the stairs.

it’s not as dark as it looks, that’s what he said. she reminds herself as she takes the first step, the quilt drags at her feet and she lifts it, careful not to trip. Each step is easier than the last, as she slowly walks into the warm darkness below. and as she reaches the bottom, her body quivering slightly in what she might call fear, she realizes that he’s right. that when she looks to her right, she sees him, standing there, all tall and gangly; leaning over a small table lighting a candle. not far from him is a navy blue couch, only big enough to fit maybe three people, if they squeezed together. and in the far corner to her right, the large furnace emits warmth through this whole room.

he smiles at her and waves her over. she does. her body feels much warmer now, with the furnace and the quilt wrapped about her and the fact that the floor here is covered in this semi-soft carpeting. she could stay down here for a long time, this is a different world than up there. with it’s soft lighting and thicker atmosphere. She highly prefers this to reality.

“you can sit, if you want.” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I left your tea up there by accident, I’m just gonna get it.”

“oh-” but he’s gone before she can even say that she doesn’t need her tea. she hesitates for a moment before meandering over to the couch and sinking into it. The cushions are large and soft and allow her to just sink into it, making her feel very small and fragile. like she’s surrounded by soft, pillow-y clouds.

He runs down the stairs, or walks as fast as he can down the stairs while holding a still steaming mug of tea.

“here you go!” he says, handing it to her. She holds it gingerly for a moment and takes a small sip.

“thank you.” she allows a small, tight lipped smile to slip through. and he beams back at her, as if he just competed in a world class competition for being the sweetest boy alive and came back with 1st place. She leans forward and places the mug on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

she leans back, tucking her legs underneath her, trying to get comfortable. she can’t seem to. everything feels too- too big. every single movement is multiplied by ten in this small space, every word she utters seems to have some meaning underneath. maybe it does. maybe it doesn’t. but looking up at Orpheus, she can’t help a warm feeling pool in her chest. she recognizes it, a want, a part of her wants to pull him close. it’s only an animal attraction, there’s nothing really real about it.

“are you going to sit? or just stand there the entire night?” he blinks at her, as if he really had been going to do just that.

“I- uh- okay.” he lowers himself to sit beside her, discomfort laced through every single one of his movements. she feels guilty almost immediately.

“Orpheus, if you don’t want to sit that’s fine, I-”

“no, no,” he begins, twisting the hem of his shirt around his fingers. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

This gives her a pause. “hurt me?”

“not… not physically hurt you. you just seem… I don’t know, scared, and I don’t want to intrude on your space or anything.” It’s touching, even if a little over cautious, that he’s thinking this deeply about her needs and feelings. the thought buzzes in the back of her head: no one had ever done that before.

“you aren’t.” she promises and reaches towards him to cover his hand with hers, or partially cover it. “see? totally fine.”

he gives her that goofy grin again and that feeling bubbles up again, a dozen observations flood her mind. how warm and calloused his skin is, how such a kind boy could be so hard worked. It was always her experience that the men who bragged of all of their hard work and calluses were the cruelest. it surprises her that she can even touch this boy, because when she looks him right in the eyes, she can’t help but think of a different boy. a boy with different eyes, who had no hope but war brewing in his chest. but touching him… being this close… She can acknowledge their differences. Orpheus is leaner, his eyebrows aren’t as prominent on his face, and when he smiles, his lips don’t curl back on his teeth like an angry dog’s. In five years, Eurydice imagines he will already have smile lines.

just a few minutes ago, she was inside her head about how close they were becoming while seated at the bar but down here it is a different realm. down here, they exist in a space without time or movement or touch. there is just them and the warmth and the couch beneath them. she doesn’t feel angry or sad or reckless or skittish, she feels… It’s almost safe. almost. she feels as if she could spend hours down here and never want to leave but it’s what exists up those stairs that makes her feel uneasy. it’s what is outside that she fears. the outside where she’ll have to go to soon, the outside she’ll flee to once this storm has blown over. no matter how many offers are made, no matter how sweet this boy is, no matter how much she wants to stay, she is leaving.

That’s the thought that makes her place her hand gingerly back in her lap, already missing the warmth it gave. but it isn’t a matter of “don’t get attached” it is “don’t get too close, it’ll hurt him when you go”.

it’s him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! thanks to any of you still reading this fic, i will be continuing this project, i already have three more chapters written and those will come once a week, i think. there are no guarantees but i’m getting back into the groove of writing!!


	7. HERMES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermes starts noticing some changes and worries.

HERMES finds them passed out on the sofa downstairs.

It’s not unexpected exactly, it’s more... saddening. He knows how this story plays out, he’s seen it many times in the people in the time, in his own family. people come and then they leave, they love and they lose. This is a story he has told to Orpheus so many times but he never seems to listen to the subcontext. He tells him stories of gods, of men, of people whose darkness gets the better of them. that sometimes the dark beats the light. but Orpheus never hears that, no, he hears the endless music that continues through his head. He hears a perpetual melody as an undercurrent for his life. Before Orpheus, Hermes was slowly losing hope. He was slowly getting lost in the sea that is humanity, tangled and lost and speechless. but this boy changed everything. instead of looking at these two teenagers like how their ending will turn out, he looks at them with the present in mind. how happy they will be for a brief time before it all goes south.

or maybe not. maybe this time will be different.

She finally stirs awake at the sound of his feet climbing back up the stairs, he catches the sound of the couch shifting and a cup being lifted off the table. He leaves the door open for her, not bothering to act if he hadn’t been down there. and he waits, in the kitchen, standing over the sink filling a half full kettle with hot water for tea.

“Would you like to sit down, dear?” he asks, without looking up. He can feel her there, standing warmly by the bar.

“no, that’s alright.” she answers hastily. “I was just coming up to drop off this mug and go upstairs again.”

“It's nearly past breakfast, why don’t you stay down here and I can make some eggs. and some for Orpheus, too, whenever he gets up.” He's already getting out a pan and some butter when he finally glances over at the girl. She's standing there, mouth open slightly, eyes darting between him and the pan and the stairs not five feet behind her. she swallows.

“you must be hungry.” he continues, not waiting for an answer. she hesitates, and then nods. a step in the right direction. He's not the parenting type but raising Orpheus was great practice. not that he’s ever planning on having any children, he’s far too old for that stage in life, but it taught him to care again. to love again. to be tender with people again. and he’s so very thankful for that. “sit down, I’ll take that mug.”

she does what he says, moving in slow robotic movements. he tries not to think at all, otherwise he may speak. he’s always been good at being diplomatic, at saying what needs to be said and moving on quickly, but here, in this situation, it feels oddly familiar and oddly emotional. he wants to tell her so many things, so many things that he couldn’t tell another woman. that he wishes he had time for, or that he’d been brave enough to say then. but this is not the time and this is not the same woman, this is just a very hungry girl with wide eyes at the sight of butter. they are poor in this town, yes, but not without their luxuries. he has a feeling she hasn’t seen such an indulgence in a very long time, perhaps never at all.

as the pan heats up, he washes her mug quickly, noting the bag of Orpheus’ favorite tea and that there is still about three fourths of the tea left in the mug.

“Is he always like this?” the girl asks after several minutes of silence. He doesn’t turn around to see her face, he knows exactly what she is referring to. Knows exactly what her expression is, a slight smile playing across her lips, a softness in her eye that was not there before. He knows this play, he knows these roles, and she is just the actress for this part.

“Yes.” is his simple answer. He really need not say anything more. Orpheus is simply joy personified. Hermes can’t explain it to anyone who hasn’t met the boy, but once they do? They, too, understand how special he is.

When he looks back over at the girl, she’s facing away from him, but he can see the tension in her shoulders, in the way she sits.

“You don’t have to be afraid here.” he says and she whips around quickly, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You won’t even tell me your name, you won’t look any of us in the eye, these are all gestures of fear, darling.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” she exclaims, voice rising with her emotion.

“Lower your voice, first of all.” she looks about sheepishly, cheeks coloring.

“What am I supposed to do? Truly, what point is there in telling you my name?” she continues, with a softer tone now. “What good could it possibly do if I am simply going to be leaving as soon as this storm passes?”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “You are a fool then.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are a fool if you still think you are able to leave.”

*

He can honestly say he’s never been more sure of anything. That is to say, he is not 100% sure that she will not kick into fight or flight mode and run out into the storm but he’s sure her resolve is crumbling. He finds himself rooting for him, rooting for the two of them. Hades is right, of course, she’s bad news. She’s like a mourning dove, an omen of only tragedy to come. But when he looks at her, something in his eyes brightens to the point where it’s blinding. The girl doesn’t look away though, she looks right back. Orpheus admires her, most definitely, but judging from the glances to the side and the ever growing intention in her movements, she admires him too. She wants him, too. That can’t be for nothing. The storm will last for another day or two but by that time, he doubts the two of them will be able to pry apart.

Fate is tricky like that.

One storm passes, yet another looms.

Through the morning, each of the housemates find something to occupy themselves with. Orpheus helps him clean the bar, clean the tables for the third time in the past day, they all just exist in silence. Hades and Persephone play cards, the girl cards through an old book Orpheus must’ve given her. There’s so much silence and only the rain falling on the roof to fill it that it is almost comical when the quiet is broken.

“Eurydice-” as soon as the name leaves his mouth, he claps a hand over his lips, eyes gone wide. The girl- Eurydice- looks up from her book, slowly, with caution.

“Yes?”

“I-I-” he stutters. “Um-”

“Eurydice?” Hades looks over from his cards. “That sounds familiar.”

Eurydice grips the spine of her book hard, she doesn’t look towards him. “It’s not uncommon.”

“It is though. It’s awfully uncommon. I swear, now I think about it, I’ve seen you before.” his brother in law could never mind his own business.

“You haven’t.”

“I have. You were a couple towns over, weren’t you?”

“Stop.”

“Some tiny place, I can’t recall the name. You- you were the drunkard’s daught-”

“Stop it, can’t you tell you’re upsetting her!” Hermes has never seen Orpheus shout before and would never have thought that it might be at Hades of all people, the man who Orpheus had proclaimed “very tall and terrifying” as a child.

The electricity in the air could power their town several times over. But it’s the type of tension which you cannot break, like the air is thick as molasses, if you try to move, everything goes slowly. So that time stretches out thin as a sheet of a paper and nobody dares speak. Hades glare could melt steel, so many have said that his intimidation is what probably got him his job, but for the first time in his whole life, Orpheus stares back. Jaw set.

“Maybe you should take a break.” Persephone suggests quietly from across the table.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Orpheus says stubbornly, his fists clenched and shaking.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Persephone’s looking at her husband, and though Hermes has witnessed their silent confrontations dozens of times, he has yet to become fluent in their language. Hades turns slowly to her, placing his cards face down on the table, carefully, as if he’ll be back soon to continue the game. He stands, brushes the wrinkles out of his button up and starts up the stairs, without a word, without even a breath. Hermes turns his eyes to Eurydice, her lips pressed together and eyes following the man with something not unlike fear in them. But also anger. A deep, old anger. In his years of experience, he knows that these combined can stew up some of the rashest decisions. In the back of his mind, he concludes that he must keep an eye on her. That does not stop him though, when he averts his eyes when Orpheus comes to sit beside her, an arm wrapping ever so gently around her shoulders. She doesn’t lean into it, nor does she pull away, just remains stiff and lifeless. Eyeing the stairs dangerously.

He justifies it to himself later, that he’d simply just missed her slipping up the stairway while they are working on making lunch. But he knows that he’d turned a blind eye. If she needs to confront him, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you SO SO SO much to those who are still reading this fic, i know interested has definitely dwindled and i’m fully okay with that. i really appreciate the support i got on the last chapter!! thank you again!!
> 
> i appreciate any and all feedback, thank you for even just reading!! ❤️❤️


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